It's Better Than Revenge
by TwoGirlsOneSite
Summary: Sequel to Fringe Fanatic's story "Peter's Pizzaphobia." Peter and Olivia are kidnapped and suffer. Rated M for violence, dark themes, and torture. Character death in later chapters, along with Polivia throughout the story. Not for the faint of heart.
1. Prologue

**This is TwoGirlsOneSite speaking! This chapter, the prologue, was written by Lynn and edited by Lea. Please enjoy.**

**Also remember that this is rated M for violence and graphic details. **

**Disclaimer: We don't own Fringe, any of the characters, or even the idea. We're writing this sequel to a marvelous fanfiction called Peter's Pizzaphobia with permission from its creator, Fringe Fanatic.**

Peter and Olivia sat side by side, eyes meeting in the dark closet. Due to a single light bulb, Peter could just make out Olivia's face. She had two minor cuts on her cheek and a small gash on her forehead, but there was nothing seriously wrong with her.

He, on the other hand, had not been so lucky.

His body was covered in bites, bruises, and his own blood. His breaths were short and shallow due to the four, maybe five, ribs that had been broken. His face was a mass of red. The agonizing pain that was shooting through his body intensified every time he spoke, moved, or thought too hard.

Truthfully, none of these things were really possible at the moment.

If he _could_ talk, if a bandanna wasn't pressed painfully into his mouth, he be would be lecturing his wife on the disrespect that had gotten her a few punches in the first place.

If he _could_ move, if his hands weren't shackled to the wall behind him, he would be holding Olivia, doing anything to make contact with the one woman that he loved.

If he _could_ think properly, if he didn't have multiple head wounds caused by various objects, he would undoubtedly be hatching an escape plan, desperately trying to find a way out of this hell hole.

But Peter could _not _do any of these things. And so he just sat there. He gave up.

He should be enjoying his time here. When that door opened, he was going to be dragged away from a bawling, struggling Olivia, towards another traumatic punishment. The worst so far was being immersed in a tub of starving, angry fire ants.

To his left, he could see the shining tears on his wife's face, her dry sobs filling the room. Peter wanted so badly to move closer to her, entwine their fingers, and whisper words of comfort into her hair.

He couldn't. So he cried with her.

Impossibly, just last week, they had been in a happy place. With their first baby on the way and the trauma of the past months almost totally forgotten, the two Bishops had been happy. Blissfully, ignorantly happy.

So how could they be sitting in a closet, bound and gagged, with their tears flowing freely down their faces?

How could the salty liquid be tinging their wounds, mixing with blood and making the pain of the whole situation intensify?

How could this have _happened?_


	2. Kidnapper and Kidnappees

**This chapter was written by Lea and edited by Lynn. Who also *drastically* edited the first part of the chapter. Thanks, Lynn!**

**You should check out our mini-bios! They're on our profile page!**

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"Peter!"

The note of excitement in Olivia's voice as she cried out her husband's name made him swivel on his feet.

_Shit. She's probably going into early labor._

He was already mentally prepping himself on how to stay calm as he bounded over to where his wife was standing.

"Peter, we have to get this crib..."

His panic immediately bubbled down into relief. The anxiety returned, however, when he saw the price tag.

"Olivia, sweetheart, this is five hundred dollars. That's a tenth of our budget, and we've still gotta lot of stuff to buy."

Olivia was not swayed.

"But he'd love it! I can tell."

Peter couldn't help but grin at his cooing wife.

"Liv, he's still got another three months before he gets to see it. Alexander isn't going to care what his bed looks like."

"But his kicks go crazy when I look at it!"

Peter didn't cave until she used her "I-am-carrying-this-child-and-will-give-birth-to-him-so-get-the-damn-crib" power.

It was a happy Monday for the two (and a half) Bishops. They'd been shopping at Baby World for the last half hour or so. They had only picked out a few pairs of baby clothes and paint that was, according to Olivia, the exact same shade as Peter's eyes, but they were enjoying themselves immensely as they thought about their future with Alexander Peter Bishop.

Olivia was extremely proud because Baby World happened to be right down the street from Papa John's, and Peter hadn't flinched or looked over his shoulder _once._ This was no small feat, seeing as it was the one year anniversary of his kidnapping.

The memory still brought shudders to the both of them. The crazy psychopath Colin Mander had practically ruined their lives by holding Peter hostage and torturing him. He'd escaped due to sheer luck.

The worst part? He'd been kidnapped on his way to Papa John's.

And although he'd managed to move on with his life, he hadn't touched a slice of pizza since then.

Peter had still been fairly distant from everybody when Olivia had confessed that she was pregnant.

He'd been so ecstatic that he'd forgotten all of his problems, and in that moment, he had been truly happy.

He still was.

His happiness diminished, however, when he felt a light tap on his shoulder.

"Hello, Peter."

The voice was silky and terrifyingly familiar. He spun around to see Mander, his face identical to what it once was, save for a scar that ran down his left cheek, over his eye.

"Remember me?"

... ... ... ... ...

Peter hated irony.

Ironic fact 1: One year ago today, Peter had been kidnapped by Colin Mander.

The mansion was almost the same. Slightly updated, it now included red carpeting in the halls and most large rooms. The other rooms had wood flooring, although the basement remained dark and stony. The walls were painted in various shades of gold, Peter's least favorite being piss yellow. He made a mental note to find something brown to write on them with later.

Ironic fact 2: Six months ago today, Mander had been arrested, and Alexander Peter Bishop was...concieved.

That day, they'd curled up on the couch together, watching the news, when footage showed-it was Colin Mander being led into a police station in handcuffs. Then Olivia had cooked him chicken Marsala, and in Peter's opinion, it was absolutely fabulous having a drugless, Walter-free meal with Olivia. Of course, the chicken was amazing. That had been one of the more memorable days of Peter's life.

Ironic fact 3: Four months ago today, Mander had been jailed, and Olivia had announced the impending arrival of Alexander.

The only thing Peter really regretted about that day was losing a meal with Walter, because Olivia hadn't felt that good before dinner. They'd gone to a drugstore for some medicine, and after she'd thrown up in the Walgreens bathroom, a pregnancy test. It being positive, Peter and Olivia had felt the need to celebrate immediately.

Ironic fact 4: One month ago today, Peter had celebrated his 33rd birthday, and Mander had gotten out on bail.

Just the fact that Colin Mander was out of jail had made that birthday one of the worst in Peter's life. Even though there was a red velvet cake and strawberry ice cream, provided generously by Walter, and even though he had presents to open and games to play with Ella, Peter had pleaded exhaustion and went to bed early, only to wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in a cold sweat. He hadn't woken up Olivia, worried that he would scare her, and having a scared, Cortexiphan-positive, hormonal pregnant woman on his case was not a feeling Peter wanted to experience.

Ironic fact 5: One hour ago today, Peter, Olivia, and Mander has passed Papa John's.

And one hour later, here they were in Colin Mander's mansion.

Again.

The two and a half Bishops sat intertwined in the same room Peter had woken up to find himself in one year ago today. Mentally, Peter crossed Baby World off his shopping list forever.


	3. The Ants of Wrath

**This chapter is written by Lynn and edited by Lea.**

**First torture scene in this one: they will get more intense by the chapter.**

Peter dreaded every minute that he spent laying powerless in the dark room. He despised the feeling of helplessness that was over coming him, he hated the lack of materials that would help him escape.

He loathed the fact that Olivia, his beautiful pregnant wife, was with him in this closet.

If he lost her, he lost everything.

Peter was scared of the darkness that surrounded him, but he was _terrified_ of the light that greeted him when the door opened.

_God, what if he takes Olivia?_

He was ridiculously thankful when it was him that they seized, and not the woman lying next to him.

Peter himself didn't make a noise as he was dragged away, but Olivia screamed at the top of her lungs. She was begging and pleading, an he could tell that she was crying, but the men didn't even look at her.

They just reclosed the door and lugged Peter down the hallway.

As his injuries were jostled, he had to fight the urge to cry. His body was aching, and the numbness that had consumed him earlier was replaced with endless pain.

It seemed like they had walked for miles when they finally approached a doorway.

Mander was standing there.

Peter was shaking, frightened beyond belief, but he comforted himself in knowing that Olivia was still in the closet, _she_ was surely safe.

"Do you remember, Bishop, when I let you bathe for good behavior?"

He exhaled. Perhaps he was being rewarded for not trying to escape.

"_Do you!_?"

Peter forced a small nod.

"Good. We're about to repeat that process, except this time it will be... more _fun._"

The door was opened and Peter was dragged inside.

He nearly fainted on the spot.

In the bathtub were hundreds of swarming red ants. And Peter could guess _exactly_ what was going to happen next.

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

Being immersed in the ants completely naked was a thousand times worse than he had imagined.

There were just _so many_. As their little teeth sunk into him, Peter couldn't prevent the cry of pain that escaped his lips.

His body was on fire. Every inch of him was being eaten alive by the little monsters that were crawling over his body.

Although he didn't have the chance to look at his skin yet, he already knew that it would be raw and red when he was finally pulled out of his torture. He could already feel the blisters forming, he could already imagine the sleepless night in front of him, he could already see the horrified look on Olivia's face when she saw him.

But it wasn't _her_ who was going through this agony, and to Peter, that was all that actually mattered.

It could have been seconds, minutes, or even hours when the pain finally reduced and he realized that he was being removed from the bath of fiery torture. He was dressed roughly, the men paying no attention to his incredibly painful wounds. If anything, they did their best to make the experience worse.

He was thrown harshly onto the hard tile outside the bathroom. Peter could feel his head crack on the floor, and he groaned in pain.

Mander was smiling down on him.

"Did you enjoy that? I know I did."

Peter managed to lift his head up a few inches.

"You're a sick, twisted bastard. Did you know that?"

Mander's grin did not waver.

"Oh, if you think _that_ was bad, you're in for quite a surprise."

He leaned down to whisper in Peter's ear.

"You sent me to jail."

"For _three months!_ You posted bail as soon as you could!"

The man's thin lips twisted themselves into an incredibly unpleasant scowl. He pointed to the white scar that ran over his intense purple eye.

"Do you see this? I may have been in jail for a short amount of time, but I will never be the same. And it is _your _fault. Don't think that you're not going to pay."

Blood trickled out of the gash on his forehead and down his face. Peter made eye contact with the man who held his life in his hands and spoke only three words.

"You deserved it."

Mander sneered and signaled to one of the men behind him. He aimed a fierce blow at Peter, and everything went black.

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

It did not surprise Peter one bit that Olivia had gotten out of her handcuffs and was trying to revive him by slapping him gently on the face.

"Peter? Peter! Oh, God, I though I lost you..."

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized he was back in the darkness with his wife. It looked like she had managed to free him of his binds and was currently trying to keep him alive.

Her face was stained with tears and she wore a look of sheer terror. Olivia's usually flawless hair was out of its pony tail, but she didn't seem to have a single injury on her. Peter exhaled in relief.

"Sweetheart, are you okay?"

She started sobbing then, and Peter seriously hoped that it was just the hormones kicking in. Because if Olivia was crying, his strong, unbreakable Olivia, then something was seriously wrong.

All he could do was muster up his strength and wrap his arms loosely around her waste, pulling her as close to him as possible.

After her hiccups stopped, she managed to get out a few words.

"I'm fine. But you're not. What happened?"

Peter hesitated, not wanting to tell her what happened, but wanting her to know exactly how serious the situation was.

"He gave me a bath, Liv, and a warning. This is so much worse than I thought it would be."

She started bawling once again, letting Peter pepper the top of her head with kisses and whispers of affection. He cradled her slowly, trying to calm her down while he himself wanted to collapse with her.

All he could do was sit there and hope with every fiber of his being that they would get to see the light of day again, that they could still lead the life that they had wanted so badly.

That he would get to see his son.


	4. Spiky Whips and Acid Lips

**This is chapter three.  
>It was written by Lea.<strong>

**As of yet, no chapter four.  
><strong>**But we'll write some more!**

**Fringe is not ours.  
><strong>**Reviews are like flowers.**

"Peter. Peter. Peter. Peter." Olivia shook her husband, trying desperately to wake him up. "Peter."

Someone had pushed a plate of something similar to oatmeal into their room, and Olivia had already choked down her half of the unappetizing gray substance. She was determined not to let him starve, even if she was eating for two.

A door was opened suddenly. The light blinded Olivia, who still hadn't managed to wake Peter up. The bald man grabbed Peter and shoved the semi-unconscious Bishop out the door.

The impact between his face and the cold wooden floor woke him up instantly. He spat out a tooth before he was roughly picked up and pushed down the hall and out a sliding door. From the grass, it was a short crawl to a large plastic shed, which Peter realized contained some very interesting tools. Tools of torture.

The one that immediately caught his eye was the one Colin Mander held.

"Hello, Bishop." he said, smiling cockily. "Feeling alright after your bath last night?"

In response, Peter spat blood on Mander's fancy black pinstriped suit.

"Feisty, are we? Well, I've got a cure for that." he said, breaking into a large grin. "Demannu. If you would." The tall bald man that Peter could now identify as Francis Demannu, Colin Mander's cousin (who had also gotten Mander out on bail), nodded. He took the whip from Mander's hands and circled Peter.

"Now, Peter. What is this?" Mander asked. Still smiling, he indicated the leather-handled tool.

The tip was a ball, probably four or five inches in diameter, surrounded in spiky shafts of metal. The center was a brown color that he vaguely realized was blood. Connecting the leather handle and the metal ball was another metal shaft about the thickness of Olivia's wrist.

Then, Demannu placed the torture instrument on the floor. He wrestled Peter's hands behind his back and tied them together before shoving him in a chair and tying his torso to said chair. Picking up the instrument and hefting it in his hand, he tilted his head and grinned.

Mander smiled. "I would like to let you know that any noise you make in this room is being transmitted to Olivia..._now_. And anything she says, does, whatever. You'll hear it all, Bishop. All of it." He pulled a remote out of his pocket as he said that and pressed a small button in the center.

"Olivia, don't listen!" he shrieked.

But it was too late, because suddenly, Peter felt the ice-cold sting of spikes digging into his chest.

... ... ... ... ...

Over and over again, the spikes dug into his flesh. Each time, they pulled out chunks of his skin, and each time, Peter howled in pain.

_I'mgonnadie_I'mgonnadie__I'mgonnadie__I'mgonnadie__I'mgonnadie__I'mgonnadie__I'mgonnadie__I'mgonnadie__I'mgonnadie__I'mgonnadie__I'mgonnadie__I'mgonnadie__I'mgonnadie__

Those were the only thoughts going through his mind.

Time after time, the whipping took away tiny bits of his sanity. Soon he was sobbing, not caring what Olivia heard, not remembering that Olivia was even there. He barely remembered his name, and then it all stopped.

He quivered in the chair he sat in, sobbing and choking and pleading for it to stop.

He heard sobs that were not his own.

He heard Olivia whimpering his name and Alexander's, and then he remembered.

"Mander..." he mumbled, voice hoarse. "Just...end it already..."

He heard Colin Mander snort. "And make you suffer any less than the three months I spent in prison? No, I don't think so. This is an art, and I have it refined, Bishop. Nothing you can do or say to me will affect that decision." Then he snapped his fingers. "Demannu."

Peter's captor's cousin handed the raven-headed man a bottle of clear liquid, although the inner top inch and a half of plastic was covered in condensed water. "Triple strength, like you asked, Boss."

Mander smiled. "Thank you. That will be all. But you may stay and watch, if you like."

One white-gloved hand uncapped the bottle whilst the other took a cup intended for scooping soil from a bag off of a counter. There was still some dirt inside, which Mander didn't bother shaking out before he poured in a good cupful of the liquid.

"Open up, Peter. Unless you want me to make it worse." Mander said in a singsong voice. Naturally, Peter refused, and Mander smiled.

"You've sealed your fate, Bishop." He chuckled as he said that.

Then Mander stretched his arm up as high as it would go, and promptly dumped the cup of liquid on Peter.

"AHH!" Peter screeched as the liquid burned. First, it was incredibly hot, as if it had been removed from a pan of boiling water, and second, it was pure acid. The acid ate its way into his pierced, bloody skin.

Midscream, Peter suddenly started choking on a very large quantity of acid poured into his mouth. He was treated to another cupful over the head, too.

The acid burned its way down his throat and into his stomach, where it was tolerable, and his lungs, where the pain was absolutely unbearable. He would scream, but the acid would burn his vocal cords.

Aw, screw that.

Peter howled, even though it brought him even more pain.

And then suddenly there was nothing coming out.

He yelled, hollered, whispered, screeched, but the only thing that came out was a faint 'huh' sound.

Now, Mander was grinning broadly. "Suffering, Bishop? Oh, that's right. You can't talk!" He laughed, and for the first time, Demannu cracked a smile.

_"Mander."_ It was Olivia speaking through the speaker system.

He turned, still grinning. "What, pregnant slut?" he asked.

_"Leave Peter the hell alone! Please! Take me...not him." _she begged.

Mander laughed. "A slut and a baby for a man who put me in jail? No. Try again later." He switched off the speaker system and chuckled again.

... ... ... ... ...

**In other words, take a firing squad to Lynn, eat Lynn, steal Lynn's pie, whatever. She's not worth it. **

**xD Just kidding, Lynners. **

**If you review, we will be your eternal fans!**

**Lynn here says to ignore what she just said. Yeah, thanks.  
><strong>


	5. Dinner Delight

**If you haven't read Peter's Pizzaphobia by Fringe Fanatic yet, you probably should. More references to Peter's time there will be made soon :)**

**Chapter by Lynn! HUGE thanks to everybody who reviewed!  
><strong>

Peter had no idea how long he'd been in the dark, miserable closet, but the searing pain in his back had finally subsided and all he could feel was a dull, throbbing ache. He had managed to fall asleep earlier, but it was a restless slumber, and he was now awake feeling more tired than ever.

Olivia was lucky enough to be dozing, her head in his lap with her hair spread messily around her. Peter knew he should be enjoying this moment, seeing as it could very well be the last moment he ever had with his wife, but he found himself jumping at every noise, flinching at the thought of what awaited him outside.

After a lifetime of fear and suspense, the door finally opened. Peter could feel Olivia's head rising drowsily off of his lap. He winced not only at the sudden bright light that blinded him as the hallway was exposed to them, but also at the small whimpers that he could hear coming out of his wife's mouth.

One of the men spoke, and the words were the most terrifying syllables that Peter had ever heard.

"Grab the girl, too. The boss wants them both this time."

For the first time since he had become a captive, Peter struggled with all he had left inside of him. The fight was useless: there were two men, he was badly injured, and they were both much more muscular than him, but Peter wasn't seeing sense right now. He was throwing weak and harmless punches like his life depended on it.

One of the men rolled his eyes and flung Peter easily over his shoulder.

He didn't even bother trying to prevent the tears that began to fall.

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

They were tossed into a room that Peter recognized way to much.

This place. God, it hadn't changed one tiny bit.

Mander must have been preserving it, because it was exactly the way Peter had left it.

The chair was placed in the center of the room. The ropes that had confined him one year ago were still lying in a pile on the floor. Peter could see where his blood had stained the ground a sick reddish color. A dirty blunt screwdriver lay carelessly near the door.

_This man is going to kill me._

Peter could remember all too clearly what had happened in this room_. _It had haunted his dreams for months, constantly reminding him that he could be taken again at any moment in time.

Now it had happened, and the nightmares were all about to come true.

Olivia was shoved roughly into the chair, her screams being muffled by the gag that was immediately tied over her mouth. Before Peter even knew what was happening, his pregnant wife had been tied tightly to the chair.

Mander entered the room with Francis Demannu at his shoulder. The taller bald man was holding a large bucket of suspicious items.

The purple eyed man gave Peter a large vampire smile.

"Are you ready?"

Peter scowled from his place in the buff man's arms.

"For what? Looking at your ugly face some more?"

Mander ignored the deliberate jab and turned to his cousin.

"Francis, if you will?"

With a grunt, the large man placed the bucket on the ground. It was filled with small black items... that seemed to be moving.

Peter was thrown harshly onto the floor to get a closer look.

Cockroaches.

His nose wrinkled in disgust as the tiny creatured swarmed over each other, creating a brownish wave of insects.

Peter could feel Mander's eyes boring into the top of his head.

"You've been good, Bishop. So I think... that you should get something to eat."

The 33 year old man suddenly realized with horror what he was supposed to do.

"No. Oh, God, no, please, you can't make me..."

Mander's wild grin grew more pronounced. He patted his hostage lightly on the head.

"Ah, Peter, but that's where your wrong. You see, we have a little slut to threaten."

That was when Peter was heaved up and forced to face his wife. One of the men had a knife to her throat, looking all too eager to draw blood. Olivia's eyes were filled with fear, not for herself, but for her child.

Peter didn't have a choice.

He looked up at his host.

"How many?"

The man smiled like a kid that had been promised heaps of the sweetest candy possible.

"_All of them._"

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

The first one was probably the worst.

Peter was _not_ prepared for the texture of the bug. It was crunchy on the outside, yet gooey on the inside, and tasted bitter and raw as he slowly but deliberately chewed until he could swallow. The crawly creature had not gone down without a fight; it had moved inside of his mouth in a horrific manner until it finally died.

He had been tortured before, but it had been nothing like _this._ What kind of sick, twisted maniac made their hostage eat _cockroaches?_

Peter was gagging by the time he had finished his third insect, and he still had an entire bucket to go.

There were definitely a hundred bugs in there, possibly more. He tried desperately to cling to any ray of happiness left inside of him.

_We're at the same mansion I was at last time. The cops will suspect Mander and we'll be rescued in no time._

Peter inhaled a deep breath of fresh air after another mouthful of the insects.

_Olivia and I are gonna be parents, and Mander's going to stay in jail forever. Alex is going to be safe with us._

He was a quarter done now, his face red and his mouth begging for water.

_Walter would probably say that these things are healthy. Full of fiber._

God, he needed something wash the taste out of his mouth...

_We can paint the baby room when we get out of here. I can make little moons and stars on the ceiling._

He was being oh-so-careful with his words, keeping out all ifs, maybes, and mights. Because one day in the near future, he was going escape with his wife, and they were going to live _happily ever after._

Just like they deserved.

And then the bucket was empty and Peter rested on the ground, his eyelids drooping from exhaustion. But God, he was just so thirsty...

"Mander... water?"

His captor sneered, obviously displeased with his prisoner's success.

"Maybe next time. Francis?"

The man slung picked up both Peter and Olivia and dragged them back to the relief of the dark closet.

Blackness returned, and save the lingering taste in Peter's mouth, it was almost like nothing had ever happened.

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

Mander searched the bottom of the bucket, scowling as he found that Bishop hadn't left one single bug.

He wasn't breaking.

The purple eyed man caught his relflection in the pail and frowned. His blind eye had marred his otherwise flawless appearance.

A figurative light bulb appeared above Mander's head.

Peter Bishop had blinded him in one eye. Perhaps he would return the favor.

Yes, things were about to get kicked up a notch.

**Don't kill me! Or us! Well, kill Lea, she totally deserves it.**

**Review! If you do then we shall consider letting Peter live through this ordeal ;)**


	6. Gets the Tough Stains Out

**Chapter by Lynn. Getting jittery; Fringe premiere SO SOON.**

**Sorry that every chapter seems to start with Peter being hauled out of the closet to his DOOOOM, but the torture is never the same, I promise you that! ;)**

**Character death in this chapter! Uh oh...**

For the first time in a while, Peter was sleeping.

He hadn't been punched unconscious or drugged into oblivion. He was actually _sleeping._

It wasn't a restless sleep, either. He wasn't haunted by nightmares or plagued by the thought of what would happen the moment he woke up.

No, Peter was just sleeping. No dreams, no shivering, no burdens.

For all he knew, he could be back in his bed at home, cocooned under the thick sheets with his oh-so-pregnant wife in his arms.

But, of course, he wasn't.

Olivia stroked her husband's hair softly, humming softly to him. He'd been through so much before this entire thing happened, and even if he survived the ordeal of being tortured to the brink of death, he would never be the same...

She had no idea how long they'd been there; time had no meaning in this hellhole. All she knew was that if Peter didn't get help soon, he was going to die.

The thought of Peter getting killed was horrifying. The thought of raising her child without a father was terrifying. The thought of not raising her child at all was just plain _wrong._

Olivia sighed and let her hand rest on her large stomach. She definitely wasn't getting the nutrition she needed, and all this stress was probably killing her little boy.

All she could do was lay down with her husband and hope that the door didn't open.

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

The door opened.

Peter felt Olivia's grasp on his arm tighten. He groaned and forced his eyelids open.

_Shit._

This time, Demannu had personally come to get retrieve him. And Peter wasn't going to lie to himself, that man _scared him._

He tried to stand up to follow him, but he immediately fell back to the floor. Demannu laughed and took it upon himself to get Peter to his destination.

They went down a hallway that he had never seen before.

They went to a room that he had never seen before.

And then he saw a liquid that he had _definitely seen before_.

Peter inhaled deeply as he saw the liquid bleach in Mander's hand.

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

He was strapped to a chair, his hands were cuffed, a gag was placed over his mouth. He knew the drill by now.

What he _didn't_ get was the fact that his mouth had been sealed.

Weren't they going to make him drink it, as they had a year ago?

Apparently not.

The glint in Mander's eyes, however, made it clear that they were definitely going to do _something_ unpleasant to Peter.

The question was not why, or who, or where, or how, or when. The question was _what._

_What are they going to do to me?_

Mander approached him, an amused smile on his lips.

"What we are going to do, Bishop, is going to be meaningful in not one way, but _two_ ways."

Peter swallowed heavily, his throat suddenly very dry.

"One of those ways is that when I _first_ kidnapped you, thirteen months ago, I made you drink bleach. This actually happens to be a bleach alternative known as OxiClean, but I'm sure it will work just as well."

This not only told Peter that he was in for a terrible day, but it also told him that he had been in this hellhole for a month.

His stomach sank. _A whole month._

Why hadn't they been found yet? They worked for the fucking FBI. Would Mander be on the top of their suspects list?

Mander was still talking.

"This second reason this is emotional is because _you_ sent me to jail. Where I happened to get this horridly atrocious scar."

He pointed to his blind eye.

"I cannot see out of this eye, Peter Bishop. So I thought... maybe we should level the playing field?"

Peter realized with horror what was about to happen.

He wanted to bellow that if Mander _really_ wanted to be fair, he would untie him, he would let him rest and heal, and _then_ he would do whatever the hell he wanted to him.

He would let Olivia go and have his cousin leave so that the two of fight without advantages or threats.

But Peter was gagged, and so he made an outraged noise in the back of his throat and tried desperately to thrash about.

Mander smirked.

"I don't think so, Bishop."

He got out an eye dropper and inserted in into the gallon of bleach alternative.

"My eye used to be so very bold. Now it's just a dull purple. Perhaps we can erase your wonderful blue color out altogether?"

He leaned closer to his captive.

"You know what they say about OxiClean: It gets the tough stains out."

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

It was probably one of the worst sensations of Peter's life.

The acid had been terrible and burning, but this just seemed so much more painful.

His _eye._ It was so sensitive, and it hurt like hell. The thought that he would never be able to see out of it again didn't help, either.

An agonizing scream ripped through his throat, filling the previously silent room with his pain.

And then the door banged open.

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

Peter knew _immediately_ that this was not part of Mander's plan. The man dropped his small portion of OxiClean onto the ground, shock evident on his face.

There was somebody standing in the doorway.

Peter's head shot up when he heard his father's voice.

"Let him go!"

His heart swelled with relief. Walter was coming to safe him. He managed to catch a glimpse of his dad with his good eye.

And then a gunshot rang out in the room.

His a headache blossomed due to the loud noise, but the sight that greeted him blocked it out entirely.

There was no mistaking the red bullet hole in the man's head.

Walter was gone.

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

They were moving.

Mander and Demannu had decided that it wasn't safe, and that they needed to work alone. They killed the two men that had been helping them.

Mander had seen the appalled look on his prisoner's face and had offered him a twisted smirk.

"Leave no trace."

He was finally tossed into the back of a van, where Olivia was already lying. Instead of embracing her, he sat down and started tugging out his hair.

"Olivia... Walter came for us."

His wife looked momentarily overjoyed. Then she realized that they were not being rescued.

"Oh, God, do they have him too?"

He pulled his knees up to his chest in a fetal position, trying to find out how to tell her what had happened.

"They shot him. He's gone."

The words hit him hard as he realized exactly what had happened. His father, Walter Bishop, the seemingly immortal man, was dead.

Just like the Olivia of the future, one bullet to the brain had ended it all.

He closed his eyes and blocked out Olivia's dry, wracking sobs.

_They shot him. He's gone._


	7. Trichotillomania

**Chapter written by Lynn with a few paragraphs by Lea. I bolded the part she wrote because I thought she deserved direct credit. She didn't want to write this for some reason D:  
><strong>

Peter was about eighty percent positive that he was developing trichotillomania.

Of course, only a Bishop would know that word and its meaning off the top of his head.

He couldn't stop pulling out his hair.

This symptom was usually caused by anxiety and/or depression, so it wasn't really much of a surprise that Peter couldn't stop twisting his brown strands until they fell out onto the floor of the van.

**The car slowly rolled to a stop. A psychotic Peter was pulled out of the delivery van. He'd barely had time to read the sticker on the side with his one good eye. The words were IcyHot **and then there was a picture of that one retired black basketball player whose name Peter remembered to be Walt "Clyde" Frazier.

**Walt. Walter. _Walter. WALTER!_**

**The little annoying voice in his head screamed it out several times.**

**"SHUT UP!" Peter roared, breaking the silence. Mander looked at him, an eyebrow raised. "Bishop? Do we have a problem?" he asked.**

**Peter mentally smacked himself. "Voicesinmyhead." he muttered. Demannu looked at him like he was nuts, and Mander laughed. "Now you understand how _I_ feel, Bishop.**

He moaned in pain and fear, his mind overwhelmed with the agonizing taunts of an unknown speaker.

_It's your fault he's dead. He wanted to rescue you, and what happened? He got shot in the head. You practically killed him. Your fault, your fault, your fault..._

Peter started crying. It _was_ his fault. His father, Walter Bishop, was gone, and it was because of him.

Mander seemed to take great joy in seeing his captive's tears.

"I _knew_ you'd break eventually, my dear Peter. Nobody can stay strong forever."

He snapped. Raising his head, he screamed long and hard up into the night sky.

_WHY? What did I DO to deserve this? I'm going to be a dad, I'M SUPPOSED TO BE HAPPY!_

His cries didn't end until his world faded with a painful thump to the back of his skull, a sickening _crack_ filling the night air.

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

Olivia was trying to shake him awake, but her attempts were proving to be futile.

She was so scared for him. He'd been out of it for three days. Despite Mander and Demannu's several tries at trying to snap him out of his unconsciousness, he hadn't opened his eyes once.

Her head always lay on his stomach when she rested, comforting herself with the steady rise and fall of his chest and the quiet thump of his heartbeat.

Even more disturbing than Peter's unresponsive state were the quiet words he would occasionally mumble as he dozed.

Sometimes, they were happy words that brought tears to her eyes, such as "_You can't do the baby room all by yourself, I'm helping_" and "_I don't need the directions! It's just a crib, Liv!_"

Other times, the words broke her heart.

"_I'm a monster. I killed him._"

"_This is my fault. Were gonna die, and it's my fault._"

"_The bastard wants revenge, and you just got caught up in it._"

His most recent sentence had scared her beyond belief.

"_When I die in here, remember me._"

Olivia buried her head in his neck, where there were less injuries for her to jostle.

She wasn't even sure if she wanted him to come out of his current oblivion. Perhaps it was better for him to stay out of it for a while, away from all this suffering.

She just missed his voice so much.

_When is he going to wake up?_

But she knew that wasn't the real question. In this situation, it was much more serious.

_Is he going to wake up _at all?

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

Pete woke up.

It was the middle of the night, and he went back to sleep almost immediately, but he _did_ wake up.

He was conscious just long enough to glare at his wife's sleeping form and push her off of him.

He no longer wanted anything to do with her.

Insanity was overtaking him.

Fast.

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

When Olivia patted Peter's face lightly on the morning of Day four asleep, he grabbed her hand roughly, his eyes still closed but his face twisted in an angry expression.

She was shocked at the fact that he was awake, but even more astonished at the fact that her gentle husband had reacted so harshly.

Trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in her gut, she smiled warmly at him as his beautiful blue orbs revealed themselves. That was when she realized that something was wrong.

"Peter? Oh my God... your _eye_..."

It was shades paler than before.

"Hon, can you see out of it?"

He looked away from her, jerkily shaking his head to express his _no._

Olivia didn't want to believe it, but she accepted the facts.

Her husband was blind in one eye.

She sank down into the corner and pulled her knees up to her chest, crying quietly.

Peter stood up, his face outraged.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you? All you do is sit in the corner and bawl like a fucking baby! _Poor Olivia, she's so unlucky and mistreated._ Fuck you! I'm the one getting tortured on a daily basis here! I got acid down my throat! A million fire ants made a meal out of me! I'm fucking blind, for God's sake! And then I come back to this filthy stinking closet, where you've been lounging around without a hair out of place, and _I_ have to comfort _you_! This is fucking twisted!

"When, no, _if_ we get out of here, I'm gone. I don't want anything to do with you. No, fuck that, we're not going _anywhere_. I'm gonna die in the hellhole, and my only comfort is that you're going with me. You and your fucking desire to go out shopping by Papa John's on my _kidnapping anniversary_ is what got us landed here in the first place! I HATE YOU!"

Olivia's mouth dropped open and the tears stopped.

She was too stunned to even reply to Peter's outburst.

His words were ringing in her ears. How could he _say_ that.

Her husband started pounding on the locked door with his shackled fists.

"I'm awake now! You can torture me, you can fucking rip my arms off! _Get me away from this woman!_"

An astonished Francis Demannu opened the door and, staring at Peter in disbelief, led him out.

Olivia held her stomach and wished for death to come.

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

Peter had meant every word he had said in their holding cell.

A few days ago, he wouldn't have believed a single syllable he had uttered. He would have broken free of Demannu and encased Olivia in his arms, crying that he didn't know what he was saying, that he was frustrated and angry, that she had to forgive him because _he didn't mean it_.

But _this_ Peter Bishop had even more bitter words on the tip of his tongue that hadn't even come yet.

He would make sure to mention them the next time he saw her.

This time, he wasn't being dragged to a room.

_This_ time, Demannu's hand was latched on to Peter's arm, but the half blind man was walking as fast as he could.

He was more than ready to welcome the excruciating pain that would make him forget about Walter.\

That would make him forget about Olivia.

About his son.

About his reason to live.

Because he didn't want to have one anymore.

**No torture scene in this one, but you shall be rewarded with an especially gruesome scene next chapter! Here's a hint: it's called Detracting Digits. But it shan't be uploaded unless you REVIEW!**

**-Lynn :X  
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	8. Detracting Digits

**Get ready for pure evil!**

**Thank you SO VERY MUCH for our two reviews! Huge shout out to Fantasy Cat for reviewing three chapters now! And yes, we DO need therapy. My sister is considering sending me to a professional ;)  
><strong>

**Written by Lynn... damn, fourth chapter in a row? Lea, your are REALLY slacking here :P  
>Lea: *makes pitiful excuse about writer's block* I'll try to get something in soon, promise.<strong>

"Well, Peter, I'm surprised you're awake. Pleasantly so, of course. But I had seriously started to doubt whether or not you were going to come to."

He smirked.

"Francis told me about your little plea to be separated from your wife. Are you finally coming to your senses? Accepting your fate and realizing that slut isn't worth your time?"

Peter giggled quietly.

"Oh, Colin. You pretend like you know what I'm going through. Are you trying to sympathize with me, or just taunt me further?"

Mander looked rather taken aback by Peter's unwavering stance. His voice was devoid of all emotion; he didn't react even slightly to his degradation of Olivia.

Peter's almost nonexistent laughter quickly became louder and longer, his howls bouncing off the walls of the room and into Mander's ears.

His calm, assertive demeanor slipped away for just a moment as he watched the man in front of him lose his sense all together.

"What the hell is so funny?"

The Bishop managed to stop guffawing long enough to spit out a reason.

"It's just that... Alexander... and Mander... rhyme! And... that was gonna be my kid's name!"

His face suddenly became serious and hardened.

"But not anymore. That boy isn't gonna have a father, thank you very much."

He didn't say this in a saddened or regretful tone. He seemed almost pleased with the fact that he wasn't going to make it out of this place alive.

Mander was sure of one thing: His hostage had gone _mad._

He tried to shake off Peter's unusual behavior. He was probably just trying to get into his head.

The purple eyed man signaled to Demannu, who walked towards him with a simple knife.

Peter smiled.

"A _knife_. Oh, man, that is so cliche. After the acid and the ants and the fucking OxiClean, you get out a _knife? _Do you want me to be _scared?_"

His tone was kind of pissing Mander off now. To teach him a lesson, he slashed the knife across Peter's chest, leaving a deep gash in which blood oozed from.

It actually made the man kind of sick, but it seemed to have no effect on his hostage.

"Really? That's all you have? I've gotta say, Mr. M, I expected a helluva lot more from somebody like you."

How _dare_ he?

Before proceeding to his actually plan, Mander held the knife up to Peter's cheek and stabbed right through it.

_That_ shut him up.

He slowly carved his was upwards in a straight line, then down vertically, up vertically, and down straight.

An 'M'.

Even _if_ Peter got out of this, he'd be branded forever.

He smiled wickedly at his kidnappee.

"Ah, do you like it?"

Peter examined himself in the reflective sunglasses that Demannu was wearing.

"Hmm... gosh, man, I really think you could have done better. I mean, just an 'M'? No fire around it? No little pineapples to make it look a bit more cheery? I dunno, Mr M, I think I might want a refund. My name doesn't even _start_ with an 'M'! It doesn't even have an 'M' in it!"

Mander reached up and slapped him on his newly injured cheek.

"That was a terrible thing to do, Mander. I can't believe you hit me! That's just plain _cruel._"

"Do you even realize where you are? What I'm doing? Have you _completely lost your mind?_"

He looked up and looked Mander straight in the eye. They were almost equals now: blind in one eye, driven insane by the suffering they had been through.

"I have no idea where I am. There were no windows in the truck, mind you. You are practicing your carving skills on me. And I don't deny that yes, I have lost my mind. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Mander sighed.

"It doesn't quite hold the satisfaction I thought it might. Ah, well. I drove you into insanity with pain: perhaps I can drive you back out the same way?"

Peter rolled his eyes and scoffed.

"Now you're just making up excuses to hurt me. If you were trying to be _logical_, you would try to make me sane again by _pleasure._ Pain will probably just drive me further in the crazy train."

Shrugging, Mander fiddled with his knife.

"Tomato, tomahto. Francis, release Peter from his handcuffs. Thank you. Now, Bishop, hold out your left hand for me."

He complied without question.

Mander examined the faint scar on Peter's palm.

"Ah, yes, I remember that. A screwdriver, was it not?"

Peter grinned.

"You bet it was. Yellow, I think. Pretty dull. _Definitely _a Phillips."

Mander nodded absently.

"You're right. It was. Now, this is going to hurt a lot more than that screwdriver, and moving is just going to make it worse, so try to keep still. Trust me, you'll regret it if you struggle. Would you like to be tied down?"

He shrugged.

"Eh, it's up to you, Mr. M."

"It doesn't seem necessary. So, without further ado..."

Grabbing hold of Peter's pinkie with one hand and adjusting his knife with the other, he slowly sank the weapon into the base of the Bishop's finger until it came off.

Blood was everywhere, and Mander had sawed right through a bone, but Peter did not make a sound.

Frustrated and amazed at his captive's stoicism, the man reached for his thumb and disposed of that one, too.

Peter was now staring at his injuries, looking rather interested in the two murky red stumps on each side of his hand.

Then he laughed.

"Oh, Lord, what's funny _now?_"

"If... if you cut all of them off... except for my middle finger... then... I'll be profane all the time! And nobody will know if I'm cursing them or not."

His chuckles grew louder.

Mander growled. Peter's pointer finger was the next to go. He only had seven digits left, but he was still giggling maniacally.

They purple eyed monster placed the knife slowly on the floor, pleased with his handy work, but not yet finished.

"Francis, the scissors?"

A pair of blue jagged shears were placed in his hands.

"Thank you."

Peter's laughter ceased when his middle finger popped off and landed in a pool of his own blood.

"I wanted you to leave that one!"

Mander ignored him and examined his last finger.

"That's a nice ring you've got there. Would you like to keep it? If you don't, I'll just throw it away."

His first impulse was to say "Sure,you can have it, I don't want to be married to that bitch anyway."

But there was a little voice in his head screaming that he loved her, that he should snatch it away with his good hand and treasure it forever.

So he compromised.

"I guess I'll take it. Perhaps I'll sell it if I ever get out of here. Which I won't, but whatever."

It was placed into a ripped and ratty pocket.

And then his last finger fell to the floor as well.

But Peter never ever registered the pain.

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

Olivia had planned to be cold and distant when her husband came back, but she immediately broke when she saw his hand.

She didn't cry, though. He had been right: She didn't _deserve_ to cry.

"Oh my God... Peter, I'm sorry for whatever I did. You've been to hell and back, and I've been totally useless this whole time, and... are you okay?"

The man was wearing a very dazed expression, likely due to the blood loss he was experiencing.

"I feel weird. Like I'm swimming in ice cream."

The voice he spoke in was soft and weak. He sounded like a lost little boy. Olivia reached up to steady him.

"Hey, Honey, hang in there. What happened? Are you still mad at me?"

"I'm not sure. I don't think so. Olivia... I _really_ feel weird."

"Don't worry, you haven't lost that much blood. You'll probably feel better after you rest, but I'm going to have to stop the blood. Oh - here."

She pulled his shirt off from over his head and wrapped it around his bloody hand.

"Wait, I have something for you..."

His face was confused as he fished into his pocket and pulled out his bloody wedding ring.

"I think I kept this. Where am I? My head hurts."

And then he promptly collapsed onto the floor.


	9. Here and There

**My wonderful partner in crime, Lea, has decided to take a break from writing Fringe fanfictions, so it is up to I, Lynn Alexa, to finish this monstrosity myself. I'm going to finish it ASAP, so there will be... twelve chapters in all? Thanks :)**

**P.S. I'm not even of age, so I have no idea about medical stuff. Just a note :D  
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Despite her efforts, Olivia was not able to peel her eyes away from her husband's hand.

He was blind in one eye, his left hand was a mangled and bloody monstrosity, and he had pretty much gone insane. Even if they _did_ make it out of here alive, Peter would never be the same, both physically and emotionally. And she didn't know how to deal with that.

_What kind of father will he be now?_

She also knew that she could never let him go, which, in a way, made things worse.

Olivia would always love him, no matter what happened, whether he was crazy or not. Because it wasn't _his fault._

If she managed to escape, the possibility that he would be strong enough to go with her was very small. His injuries were too severe: she would have to half carry him along with her eight month pregnant belly.

But she wouldn't just leave him.

She _couldn't_.

Which is why she was currently having a terrible inner conflict as she stared at the doorway.

It was unlocked.

She had the possibility of getting out of here with her son's life.

And her own.

But what about _Peter?_

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

Well, for one thing, he was in fucking _agony._

Who knew that getting the muscles removed from your leg could hurt so much?

His face refused to reveal his pain. He wanted to scream out into the room, tell the world how much distress he was currently in.

But he couldn't. The man that had emerged on the outside refused to budge. He evened seemed to be enjoying himself.

_Oh, God, it hurts._

There was nothing as he could do as his tendons and ligaments were placed on the floor beside him.

Mander was enjoying this so, so much... if only he could regain control of his body, punch the living daylights out of the man that had destroyed his perfect life...

Peter wasn't sure exactly who the person outside was. Perhaps he had developed Multiple Personality Disorder. Maybe this was some sort of traumatic side effect that would go away, maybe Mander had slipped him something to make his outer layers lose it while the inside of him stayed completely sane.

In any case, Peter was still working on clawing his way up to the top of his own body.

So that he could apologize to Olivia. And then find a way to get them the hell out of there.

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

She didn't run.

Sure, she could have. But she didn't.

Because she couldn't leave him.

When he was finally tossed back in, she went back on her oath to never weep in this hellhole again.

His entire right leg was limp and bloody. Incredibly, he was still awake, amusement clear in his eyes.

"Crying again, hmm? I'm not. And I don't think that man left a single muscle in this particular part of my body. Funny, I always thought _you_ were the strong one."

Olivia took a deep, shuddering breath. He was undoubtedly in a great deal of pain. Was this his way of coping?

"Hey, Peter, you know I love you, right?"

He appeared to be in deep thought.

"I guess."

"Then you have to understand that I'm going to do something very, very painful, but it's because I want you to live. Okay?"

Peter's face took on an adorable look of contemplation.

"Can I be asleep?"

She took a deep breath.

"No, Peter, you can't. I need you to tell me what Mander did to you."

"He took the muscles out of leg."

"With what?"

"Well... tweezers for some of them, but big ugly pliers for some other ones."

"How did he cut open your leg?"

"Knife."

"What did he do with it when he was done?"

Peter grinned coyly.

"It's a secret."

"_Peter!_"

"Guess!"

Olivia was on the verge of restarting the tears that she had managed to stop.

"Uh... he put it away?"

He giggled.

"Yup! In a very special place!"

Then he lifted up his shirt (which he had removed from his hand and put back on) to reveal the dagger wedged up to the hilt in his thigh.

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

In her hands was the weapon that had begun Peter's leg injury.

It had taken her all of the courage she possessed to remove it from her husband's side, but things would have been much worse for him if she hadn't.

Besides, she needed it.

Peter's leg was going to get infected, she could be sure of that. He couldn't use it and it was obviously causing him delirious pain. She couldn't treat it.

Which is why she had to amputate it.

Just the thought of having to see Peter in that much pain made her want to cry. But he had to be awake when it happened, or he might never regain conscience again.

She was fairly positive that ridding him of his leg would give him a fever as well, but it would be so much easier to take care of him with a stump than with all four of his limbs attached.

But _God,_ this was going to be terrible.

"Hey, Honey, are you ready?"

He looked up at her and grinned cheerfully.

"Sure am, Princess Lea!"

She choked on her own sobs.

"Okay then... Luke, let's get this show on the road."

And then she sank the knife into her husband's leg.

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

He was finally resting.

She was faintly worried that he shouldn't be sleeping, but she wasn't going to wake him up.

Peter Bishop, _her_ Peter Bishop, had reemerged during the surgery.

He had apologized for his cruel words and had her put his wedding ring onto his right hand in between screams and spasms.

She had staunched his blood loss the most she could and had used some of the fresh water they were given to clean his wound and hydrate him, and he was doing fairly well. But he needed a real medic, and she only had basic training.

If they didn't get out of here soon, this was going to end very messily.

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

When he woke up, he was still himself. Peter pulled his wife towards him and wrapped an arm loosely around her, trying to remind himself that she was here with him, to take care of him. In some ways, he wished she was gone, he wished that she was free and he was alone. But as horrible as it sounded, he was immensely relieved to have her in the damp room to keep him sane.

Peter had been trapped inside of his own mind, but he had been terribly aware of everything happening around him, feeling every moment that he had spent here. In a way, this was absolutely horrifying, but it had also given him a chance to observe his surroundings without having to act in any way.

And he had formulated an escape plan.

Given, it probably wouldn't work, but screw that. He had to try. If he didn't, he would just die anyway.

His leg injury was going to slow him down and perhaps compromise his idea. Peter had spent the last several hours contemplating whether or not it would be a be a crazy idea to try and escape without 5 of his fingers and one of his limbs missing, still suffering from massive blood loss.

Then again, waiting could mean even more injuries. Which could mean never even having the chance to escape. And he just couldn't risk that.

He didn't have to escape on foot. All he had to do was get to a person with a cell phone and call the FBI, try his best to stay on the line long enough for them to trace the call.

Peter closed his eyes as he remembered the last time Mander had caught him after his escape. He had been rescued, but it had been so close. Could he risk that again?

He glanced at his wife's sleeping form and her very pregnant belly. If they didn't get out of here, that little boy was never going to have a chance at life.

He closed his eyes. What if this turned out like the machine incident? Things had turned out alright in the end, but in the other world that he had traveled to... he had been faced with a hard decision and was forced to make a choice. And things had not exactly turned out wonderfully.

_Could he risk that again?_

Peter bit his lip and made his decision.

_Yes. I can._

**Review, this is gonna be over soon and I want at least 15 reviews for my hours of writing and thousands of words :P**_  
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